Evelyn of Stone Mountain
by ChibiKiri
Summary: Evelyn is the illegitamite child of Joren of Stonemountain's uncle. She sets out to make a life separate from her tainted past and unconnected life at Stonemountain Fief. Is knighthood the answer? Or a mistake she is sure to regret? 1st fanfic!
1. Prologue

**This is my first fanfic so I would love constructive criticism, let me know how the it sounds! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tamora Pierce's characters, only those created by my own wild imagination.**

**Prologue: Whispers**

Whispers.

They follow me wherever I go.

They haunt me, night and day.

They hound me down the halls, snapping at my heels.

Pulling at my clothes, yanking on my braids, suffocating me with their malicious intent

Reminding me day after day my worthless and degenerate existence.

But no more

I will no longer be victim to them.

I will no longer cower in their presence, folding into myself so as to protect my center.

I will raise my head high, banishing the fear which has paralyzed me for so long.

They made me believe I was nothing.

Now, I will make _them_ nothing.

I have found my purpose.

I have found my truth.

I have found myself.


	2. Chapter 1: Another Day Another Insult

**Chapter 1: Another Day Another Insult**

The young girl walks down the drafty stone corridor of Fief StoneMountain. The two French braids that frame her heart shaped face, swing from side to side. The light filtering in from the widow portals in the hallway shine and highlight her silvery pale blonde hair.

She walks meekly with her head down and her hands cupped gracefully in front of her. Her simple yet well made dress drapes silkily over her body, as bright and emerald green as her eyes. Eyes, which never seem to rise from studying the ground, as if she was unraveling the world's mysteries in those many stone veined paths.

Though there was no apparent or outward signs of distress on her being, Evelyn of StoneMountain had much to worry about. She was now reaching the age of ten in less than two weeks. Two weeks until her life was ultimately decided for her, without any input from herself whatsoever. Or so everyone thought.

As she reached the corner of the hallway the sound of her name made her halt. "We won't hafta worry 'bout that girl for much longer, Maddie" said one of the maids who worked in the mano. "'Bout time she got outta here, I'm tired of her acting as if she belonged."

As Eve peaked around the corner, she was already imagining the sneer on the Lucy, the maid's, face.

Low and behold there it was.

She saw that they were dusting the various portraits and tables that lined the hallway as they gossiped, again, about her.

_I really should be used to it_, Eve thought angrily to herself, _It's not like they're the only ones who talk about me or as if gossip was an anomaly in this household_. Eve pulled her head back from around the corner and clenched her hands into tight fists as if attempting to contain her anger by sheer physical force. She let out a quiet sigh and relaxed her hands, knowing there was no use in getting angry. Eve leaned back against the cool stone wall. _I don't know why I do this to myself, _Eve thought, _it never gets any easier no matter how many times I listen to them._ She looked up at the ceiling as the maids continued.

"Maddie, I honestly still can't believe that my lady has put with that _thing_ for as long as she has" the sound of a duster thumping forcefully on a table echoed down the hall, as if reinforcing Lucy's words. "I _know_," replied Maddie, in the most sympathetic tone, "the girl ain't even 'ers and she still treats her as if there's nothin' amiss."

Eve takes a sharp intake of breath and holds it for ten seconds, _I need to stay calm, I don't care what they think or what they say_. She repeats this mantra in her head over and over, knowing full well that no matter how many times she says this, needing to say it is in itself a contradiction to the mantra. Knowing full well that every time those whispers catch up to her they cut and twist deeper each time into her heart causing pain she thought she had finally conquered or at least learned to ignore.

"Really," Lucy continues, "I don't know what his grace was thinkin' getting involved with that filthy bar wench slut anyhow, having my lady here an'll, just 'cause she had the slight look of his first wife is no excuse to go a-slummin'…" the rest of Lucy's sentence died in her throat as Evelyn turned the corner, her calm and serene demeanor back in place, her head demurely tilted downwards, hands folded in front of her dress. The two maids dipped in a curtsy as Evelyn's approached, "Miss", they both said quietly. Eve raises her head and says, "Maddie, Lucy," with the sweetest smile on her face. Not a single facial twitch or change in tone betraying the fact that she had overheard every single word that these disgusting women had said about both her and her mother. The maids ducked their heads at seeing her smile.

_Oh sure, now they act ashamed, just because they think I might of overheard them. Pathetic._

Eve walked past them and continued on towards the end of the corridor.

_Three, two one…_

"You don't think she 'eard us did she?" whispered Maddie. "And if she did? It's not like we 'ere saying anythin' that was untruthful," scolded Lucy. As if Maddie was the one at fault for thinking they had done something wrong.

_Gossip is like a never ending disease, _Eve thought, _once it catches it never leaves, not even once it's run its course. It continues to rot inside of its hosts until it's been released to all willing ears, and even then it continues to fester. A plague which follows me wherever I go no matter how far I run; I guess that's what a no good bastard child like me deserves. Or so people lead me to believe._

Eve reaches the door at the end of the corridor, shoves it open and closes it quietly behind her, giving her one last look at the maids as they walk away, huddled and engrossed in their foul whispering. Once the door is closed she rests her head against it, and lets out a shuddering breath.

"I hate it, I hate it, I hate it," she utters quietly, emphasizing the end of each phrase with a pound on the door. She tilts her head back and blinks her eyes before any traitorous tears escape her hold. "They are not worth my tears, nothing and no one is" Evelyn says aloud, and then whispers, "If I've learned anything from this plagued existence it's that." Eve turns around and studies her one sanctuary, her one refuge where nothing can touch her. Her room, where all the whispers can be shut away, even if only for a few hours.


	3. Chapter 2: Father? Mother?

**Chapter 2: Father? Mother?**

To her left, the floor to ceiling windows let a wonderful amount of sunshine enter her room, brightening the drab colors which fill the whole manor. She walks toward her bed at the center of the room and picks up her book off of the nightstand and hugs it to her chest. "You are the only one I can confide in old friend," she whispers to the book. She hears songbirds outside and puts her book on her bed as she rises to go stand by the window, drawn to its warmth and comfort.

She looks out at the manor's courtyard, filled with the blooming flowers of summertime. Giving one last show before fall comes to take away their life and vibrant colors, to replace them with their earthier and darker counterparts. She sees her reflection in the window and places her hand next to it.

_My hair is my father's, part of the grand StoneMountain legacy_, the thought dripping in sarcasm._ My eyes are my mother's, brighter and more beautiful than the grandest emeralds my Nana used to say. _Her heart twangs momentarily at the memory of her Nana, who had passed away six months ago. She shakes her head and continues with the inventory of her looks. _My skin is pale, almost translucent, yet it never tans; a characteristic that I could have inherited from either of my parents. My nose is small and slightly turned up at the end, neither my mother nor my father's, I've been told. My mouth is average size with my lower lip fuller than my upper giving me a look as if I'm constantly pouting and therefore constantly unsatisfied. I'm about four feet and nine inches so not too short for my age._ Her eyes travel down her body_, I'm not scrawny, more on the lean side. So all in all I'm barely a slip of a girl as Nana used to say, and yet this slip of a girl, of average height and build, with no magical Gift or Sight to claim, has probably caused more of an uproar and controversy in this house than my father's scandal ever did. My father had found that special something within my mother, that something which he had lost when his first wife Julia died. He fell in love with her, even though she was a commoner and therefore forbidden by his society to become anything meaningful._

Evelyn removes her hand from her reflection and looks away in disgust, tired of searching, once again, for some stronger indication in her looks of where she belonged. Her physical appearance only reminded her of how far she was from the original pair that made her who she was. Similar to her mother, similar to her father, yet nothing like them; no place with either of them and no place where I feel truly at home.

_The only reason I have even the semblance of a home is because my father took me in after my mother died, if not for that, I would probably be living on the streets since I have no living family on my mother's side. I am trapped in a constant limbo, neither worthy to have any part in my father's legacy, and to pathetic to be abandoned to my own devices. Well, the latter is felt by some people in the manor more than others. So I am grateful for my father's attempt to give me a home, even if it is a mere sham of a home._

_My father, _Eve turns away and walks to the opposite end of her room where her myriad of books are crammed and stacked on their overflowing shelves. She looks over and above the big plush armchair next to the lamp where she does her reading, where the portrait of her once young father hung on the wall. In this portrait it is easy to tell why he was considered one of the most handsome men of this area. His nose is straight, his jaw strong and proud. His eyes are as blue as the deepest ocean and with skin as flawless white as new fallen Midwinter snow. His eyes carry a glimmer of mischief, barely noticeable if not inspected closely and for long periods of time (as Eve had done). He held himself with a sense of authority and grace that emanated from him even when only in painted form. The corner of his mouth is raised in a half smile, capturing a soft side of his which is rare.

Who would have thought that this dashing young man would become the hunched and withered specimen he is now, holed up in his study never coming out for anything, not even to the pleas of his daughter. The daughter he brought home but gave to others to be raised. Too much of a bother to look at; too even remember she's there.

_This is my daddy, _I used to think when I was still young enough to hold my naiveté close to myself like a security blanket, when the only image I had of my father was this portrait. To think I was gullible enough to believe my Nana's stories about how _busy_ and _important_ my father was and that that was why I could never see him; that that was why I had to spend all my time with her or Lady Katherine learning the duties and responsibilities as future lady of this house. What a sham.

Lady Katherine. The woman my father deceived and cheated on with my own mother. The woman who my father forced to take care of me and watch over me until I was of proper age, a task no man should ask a woman who he had so betrayed and hurt.

Yet she was never cruel.

Never awful as the stepmother's of my books were (not that she was my stepmother; more of a foster guardian I guess would be the best comparison). She was never any of the awful things I imagined a woman of her position, wife and lady of this fief forced to raise the illegitimate child of her philandering husband, would be. Though she was never any of these terrible things she was never a "mother" to me. At least not how I ever pictured a mother would act and treat their child, not that I hold that against her, especially considering her circumstances. But I've always felt that void of something missing; I've resigned myself to that, and learned to go on. What else can I do in with the life I have?

The best word that would describe how Lady Katherine is towards me is…indifferent; not cold but not warm either. Like a teacher or tutor. Only there when you need her for the most impersonal things, someone who knew they had a duty to you but never begrudged you for it. That is something I will always be grateful to my lady for. She never made me feel as if I was unwelcome, then again never welcomed either.

Evelyn shakes her head, as if trying to make all the confusing contrasts that make up Lady Katherine disappear.

She has taught me all that she knows in things of household and socializing hoping to give me a base of learning, she says. I've mastered all of the skills that my Lady taught me. When I was smaller, I hoped that my accomplishments would make her proud, and maybe, just maybe, show me a minute bit of that warmth which I so ached for. But, in the end, I realized that it was all a waste of time, she could never accept me and no matter how much I achieved in my learning it would not change anything. These skills are for that of a true lady. A lady who will one day have a place in some household, but I can never have that. Stuck in this nowhere role in my life, I can never be a lady.

That is my life. Neither here nor there; neither a true lady to be, because of my parentage, nor a common bastard child either, because of the protection I have from my father. I'm in a limbo outside my control, floating in an endless and directionless abyss—but not for long. I will be ten in twelve days. Twelve days until I will most likely be shipped to some convent to become a nun, for no man would have me with my soiled lineage, except for a quick roll in the hay. I could never be lady of this fief. I mean, what other option could I possibly have? What does an illegitimate child, with no place in this world, have to offer?

Or at least that is what I thought. Until three years ago.


End file.
